A lifetime ago I closed my eyes and wrote, and out popped my beautiful depression. It was the first time I really started to notice that something was wrong, and I sent the poem out to try to get some answers. None came. Reading this poem now it is bizarre how many red flags I see weaved between its line. It makes me sad. Wow ummm this piece of paper hurts. It’s like a splinter lodged into my head, and I know it’s been there for a while, but could never quite grasp how deep it was lodged in. In all honesty it’s an unremarkable poem with remarkable implications. I’m just rambling now. Here it is though, the first poem of my depression.
Things I Whisper
Sometimes it’s hard to tell if someone is alive,
When they walk around your dreams with cold dead eyes,
Not really a friend, just someone in disguise,
An ugly reminder till the day that it dies.
Some days I wish I could end it all,
To feel the sensation of a free fall,
Or ram my car into an incoming wall,
But I can’t, and I won’t, I’ll do nothing but stall.
I’m constantly feeling the weight of my hate,
Waiting for a happiness that feels perpetually late,
Who quickly ducks out like a cheap date,
Leaving me alone with far too much on my plate.
Sometimes I hear something that’s not there,
It’s whispers driving me further into despair,
When I ask it why, it just says life isn’t fair,
But sometimes it feels like the only one who cares.
Just leave me alone, don’t need you,
It’s over, go home, this relationship is through,
I’m fickle, come back, you’re someone I can talk to,
If only to say there’s nothing you can do.
I have a secret, I don’t know if I’m alive,
Because when I wake up I see cold dead eyes.
My smile isn’t mine it’s just my disguise,
And god how I wish I didn’t want to die.